Ghoul of my Dreams pt 2: The Painted Ghoul
by Reyelene
Summary: Nodoff, supreme ruler of Dream World, drinks a potion that enables him to use his powers in the Real World for only one day. Will his revenge on Darkwing and Morgana succeed? Inspired by "The Painted Skin" from Pu Songling's Tales of a Chinese Studio.
1. Chapter 1

Nodoff, who had been floating in his realm, fumed over being easliy defeated by that meddlesome Darkwing Duck. That duck kicked him in the bum pretty hard, the little ghoul could still feel the bruise a little. He had never been so humiliated and insulted in all his life! And then there was that _Morgana_ woman. Why would a talented witch such as Morgana be smitten with someone like _Darkwing_ anyway?! She couldնe chosen to be with the supreme ruler of _Dream World_ , who was twice more powerful than Darkwing (well, when he is within his realm anyway), able to change his form to whatever he pleased, and with enough charm to court any lady ... if he really wanted to.

" _So_ they think they've won because they've thrown _me_ back in my _own_ world?!" the trickster muttered to himself. Well, they're _wrong_!

Nodoff flew to the spot where his giant hour glass still stood. Although it had been spilt, there was still plenty of Sleep Sand leftover. But he couldn't try the same tactics again to take over the city of St. Canard. _No_! That would be too predictable. As dim-witted as that Darkwing Duck character was, causing another major sleep spell would only attract the duckճ attention. The ruler of Dream World had to think of a _different_ way.

Nodoff did have an idea ... but how would he execute it? His powers are very limited in the real world, he couldn't change his shape there. The trickster snapped his fingers, making a large book of spells appear. He withdrew a pair of reading glasses (technically, he didn't need them, but he thought they made him look _smart_ ) before thumbing through the pages. Then he came across something intriguing. A sinister smile flickered on his face.

" _Yes_ ," he uttered, his usual high-pitched voice naturally lowering to a demonic tone. "This is _perfect_!"

Once again, Nodoff snapped his fingers. A small flask of a purple-colored liquid appeared floating in front of him. He grabbed it with his right hand and took a deep breath. Before putting the flask to his lips, he quickly glanced at his watch on his left wrist. The effects only last for one whole day ... but it will have to do.

Closing his red-orange eyes solemnly, the ruler of Dream World drank the cool purple liquid. He felt only slightly dizzy for a few moments before having this renewed energy. It was a feeling he had never felt before. It wasn't long until the doorway between Dream World and the Real World had opened. As Nodoff floated in its direction, his whole body began to glow with a dim purple light.

This isn't over yet, _Darkwing_!" Nodoff uttered in a demonic tone once again. "This isn't over _yet_ ..."


	2. Chapter 2

Darkwing Duck was busy running an errand for Launchpad McQuack. He had ordered burgers for his trusty sidekicks from Mad Hippoճ, which was Launchpadճ favorite fast-food restaurant. Sometimes Darkwing rolled his eyes at Launchpadճ cravings for foods that were only likely to clog arteries or put on excess weight. It was unbelievable that Launchpad did not gain any weight from eating these things, that duck was practically all _muscle_!

The caped duckճ thoughts were suddenly disturbed when he heard a startled cry coming from in front of him. Eyes fell upon some strange and mysterious lady creature with long, black hair, somewhat unkempt, but nearly touched her ankles. She wore an autumn-colored dress, Darkwing wished to see more but could only see the back of her. He noticed that in her hands, she carried a suitcase. It looked as if she was running away from something ɠor someone ɠbut _who_? Then Darkwing caught a glimpse of her leg. Her skin was almost greenish in color. Now this was curious? Could she have been one of Dr. Bushrootճ experiments gone haywire again? She mustնe been, he could smell the faint but prominent scent of lavendar perfume.

҅xcuse me, miss?ӠDarkwing called, hoping to get a better look at her face. As he expected, this lady creature turned her face. But Darkwing saw only her eyes, which her touched with dark brown eyeshadow and surrounded by long, thick eyelashes. The color of this girlճ eyes matched the color of her dress, but the rest of her face was hidden behind her right arm. However, the caped duck saw she had an unusual pair of ears, almost like an elf and modestly decorated with hoop earrings. Maybe this wasnմ one of Bushrootճ experiments after all.

҉խ afraid Iնe no time to talk, sir,Ӡthe strange woman replied. Her accent sounded so _English_. ҉ _must_ find a hotel where I can rest! If I stop to talk, he will surely _beat_ me!Ӽ/p

The caped crusader shook his head in confusion. җhat?! _Who_?Ӎ he asked.

ҍy master,Ӡthe woman replied. ҈e works me to the bone, but never lets me rest ɠor _eat_! Please, donմ let him take me!Ӽ/p

Darkwing looked behind him. Since it was midnight, there was no one around except him and the girl. Most other people had been asleep. If this girl was being chased, how come he saw no one around? җell, you must be a fast runner to keep a big distance from ɠwhoever youղe running away from.Ӎ The duck knelt to the womanճ level to help her to her feet. She held the duckճ hands in hers. _Now_ Darkwing could see the rest of her face. The ends of her mouth reached the corners of her eyes, her cheeks were slightly blushed, and she had a small, imp-like nose. Clearly, this creature was not from St. Canard.

ҍy name is ɠ _Nadine_ ,Ӡthe strange lady replied, shyly turning her head away. ҉խ ɠvery tired ɠand Iխ very hungry. Please sir ɠmay I stay at your place for one night?Ӽ/p

҉խ afraid thatճ out of the question, Miss,ӠDarkwing shook his head. ҍy assistant and I are very busy, and we donմ let strangers in our home. But I can find you a hotel where you can rest for the night.Ӽ/p

Without warning, the lady broke down and sobbed, grabbing Darkwingճ cape as he was about to turn away. ҏh _please_ , kind sir! Youղe the _first_ kind face Iնe seen! I _promise_ I wonմ be a bother to you!Ӽ/p

Darkwing sighed in defeat. What would Morgana say? He planned to visit her after he had dropped off the burgers at home. Still, the duck found it hard to say no to a lady in distress. ҉ suppose,Ӡthe caped duck replied. ҈op on board my motorcycle!Ӽ/p

The mysterious lady named Nadine did as Darkwing had asked and climbed inside the passengerճ seat of the motorcycle, resting her suitcase on her lap. Darkwing gave her a helmet to wear so in case of an accident, she wouldnմ crack her skull. Soon the duck put on his and turned the key to start the ignition.

Ҕhank you, kind sir!ӠNadine replied, her voice filled with gratitude. ҉ will never forget this!Ӽ/p

҄onմ mention it.Ӽ/p


	3. An Unexpected Detour

**Sorry for the delay on this story, fans. For this one, I give credit to brave kid since this was his idea.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: _An Unexpected Detour_**

The cold wind slapped Nadine in the face as Darkwing sped up to keep within the traffic. The mysterious female smoothed her raven-colored hair as it blew in the wind. While the masked mallard was too busy paying attention to the road and traffic, Nadine buried her face behind her knees ... and a dark and sinister grin appeared on her face.

 _Darkwing Duck, you are such a fool!_ the female thought. _You don't know an old friend when you see one?!_

Suddenly, the duck-mobile made a sharp and abrupt stop that caused Nadine to shriek. A traffic jam had slowed them down. Darkwing rose his head to get a better look ahead of him. There was an accident not to far from here. He began to swear under his breath. "Damn! That means we're _stuck_ here!" But afterwards, Darkwing also spotted a couple of cross guards and police men in that area. The cross guard began to direct the cars in the right lane to detour to the right ... and that was the exact lane that both Darkwing and Nadine were waiting in. This was definitely not the way back to the hideout, Darkwing really detested setbacks such as these, especially when he had become so accustomed to a certain way to get back home. But, he _did_ know of a place in that direction in which he could stop by anyway.

"I hope you don't mind, Miss," Darkwing turned his gaze to Nadine. "I'm going to make a quick stop somewhere else first."

Nadine's orange eyes blinked in surprise. "Oh?" she replied. " _Where_?"

"To MacCawber Manor," Darkwing replied.

Nadine's eyes shrunk in terror. " _M-M-MacCawber Manor_?" she giggled nervously.

Darkwing nodded. "There's a woman I know there. Her name is Morgana." The masked mallard had finally made the right turn after the cross-guard directed him. "As a matter of fact," Darkwing said, suddenly having an afterthought. "Why don't I drop you off at Morgana's instead? I think you'll find her quarters much more comfortable that mine."

Nadine's giggle ceased abruptly. _Now THIS is going to put a damper in my plans!_

"I'm sure Morgana wouldn't mind the company," Darkwing continued. "Besides ... you'll get to spend some quality _girl time_ together. You can tell her all about the situation with your cruel master."

Nadine slapped her forehead with her hand in disbelief. _This is NOT what I had in mind!_ The mysterious female was tempted to complain, but when she spotted Darkwing's stunned expression to her previous gesture, she withheld any further complaints. "Um ... I suppose that's okay ..."

* * *

After the two arrived at MacCawber Manor, Darkwing took Nadine by the hand to help her out of her seat. He offered to grab Nadine's suitcase, which was unusually light. To be honest, it felt like it was completely _empty_ (how the hell was she struggling with _this_?!). Darkwing used the knocker to knock on the door. He only did it twice so that the knocker wouldn't bite his hand this time. It didn't take long for the door to open and Morgana stood there.

" _Dark_?!" Morgana blurted. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon!"

"A traffic jam lead me here," Darkwing answered. "By the way, I found a lady on my way home and she's looking for a place to stay." Darkwing gestured to Nadine, who was trembling from within. Morgana curiously looked at the lady, but she hid her face within her long, dark hair. The masked mallard explained to Morgana the mysterious lady's situation and asked if it was alright for the lady to stay with Morgana at MacCawber Manor. Morgana was particularly curious as to why Nadine hid her face and trembled, Darkwing assumed it was because of the tyranny of Nadine's master.

"She can stay at the manor," Morgana agreed, "provided that she make herself _useful_."

 _Well, there is no fear of that_ , Nadine thought as she uncovered her face to look at Morgana. "Oh, thank you kindly, miss," Nadine replied with a smile. "You won't regret it."

Although Morgana nodded in return, an afterthought occurred in the back of her mind. _I hope not ..._

Darkwing bid the two ladies farewell before taking off on his motorcycle. Nadine carried her suitcase as Morgana led her inside the manor. Suddenly, the mysterious female was greeted by the scent of herbs steaming on the stove, making her nose wrinkle.

"I was in the middle of cooking stew when you two came by," Morgana told Nadine with a sigh, which sounded as if the witch were exasperated at being interrupted.

"So sorry to interrupt, miss," Nadine replied. "What can I help you with in the kitchen?"

That response took Morgana by surprise. She was also a bit insulted by it. "Ok, when I said _make yourself useful_ , I meant _only_ when I _ask_ you for something, _not_ before!"

Nadine's orange eyes widened, looking as if she got slapped in the face. However, her mouth was in a straight line. "Did my offer _challenge_ you too much?"

Morgana crossed her arms and smiled ... but she closed her eyes. " _What's_ the challenge when I'm too familiar with your tactics, _Nodoff_?"

At the mention of his name, the mysterious lady's shape changed to that of a short, blue-haired ghoul. And he sat on the floor with his arms crossed, his fingers drumming his arms.

"Do women _always_ have to spoil the fun?!" the ghoul replied in exasperation.

Morgana tilted her head back and laughed. "And _what_ , pray tell, is your idea of _fun_?"

Nodoff did not respond, but situated himself in a lying position on the couch, resting his cheek against his palm. The ghoul smiled (almost to himself) as he gave Morgana the silent treatment.

" _You_ were going after Darkwing again, _weren't_ you?!"

Morgana asked Nodoff in a serious tone. Still, the ghoul did not respond but smiled.

"I don't know what you're smiling about Nodoff," Morgana crossed her arms. "You don't have any powers here."

"Then how come I was _in disguise_ a few minutes ago?" Nodoff answered mockingly.

Morgana began to seethe through her teeth.

"But if it's any consolation to you, Morgana, I will make myself _useful_ ," Nodoff replied, slightly changing the topic of conversation. "


	4. Withdrawn by the Past

**Chapter 4:** ** _Withdrawn by the Past_**

Nodoff had shifted his shape back into Nadine and followed Morgana into the kitchen. The witch heaved a flustered sigh, getting slightly annoyed by Nodoff's trickery. Why the hell did he have to be disguised as a female for?! And he still did not answer any of her questions!

"I suppose you wish to outwit me in some beauty pageant contest?!" Morgana asked, half-joking with a hint of sarcasm.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Nadine replied, fluttering her eyelashes. Morgana heaved an annoyed sigh and impatiently motioned Nadine with her right arm to come by the kitchen counter. The herbs were already sliced and separated in bowls. Nadine's orange eyes shifted to the pot on the stove and she inhaled the scent that was coming from it. It smelled like noodles. At the same time, Morgana went to the sink and brought over raw chicken. She ordered Nadine to help her cut the chicken to which the ghoul obliged. As Nadine rolled up her sleeves and began to slice up one of the chicken thighs in quarters, her mind began to wander. She had expected to dwell on memories of Dream World and how sweet revenge would be. However, those were not the memories that had came to her as she chopped up the chicken. She began to hear a voice.

"Pietro ... Pietro ..."

Nadine paused momentarily to look behind her. No one was there. She shrugged it off to resume her kitchen duties.

"Pietro ... Pietro MacCawber ..."

"Did you hear that?" Nadine asked Morgana.

"Hmm? Hear what?" Morgana replied.

Nadine's large ears drooped sheepishly, disappointed and confused by Morgana's response. How could the witch not have heard that voice? It was loud enough. The ghoul sighed as she finished up slicing the chicken. "You don't think it's a little too much, Morgana?"

"What do you mean?" Morgana replied, unsure if she was going to like what Nadine had to say next.

"Unless you're expecting five or more guests to come later on," Nadine began, "I think this is too much chicken, even for yourself. You'll end up throwing away what is not eaten."

"As a matter of fact, Nadine," Morgana replied, "I am expecting some guests later on. They're a bunch of old colleagues I went to the university with. They'll be visiting much later on tonight." Soon after she had said this, Morgana's eyes fell on the chicken that the ghoul had just finished slicing up ... and was awestruck. The chicken was evenly quartered, not a single slice was uneven and the skin had been separated and put in a neat pile on the opposite end of the cutting board. Not to mention the witch was in disbelief at how fast the chicken was sliced. If it had been done by Morgana herself, it would've taken her half an hour, simply because she detested cooking and the processes that went with it. She only did it because it was less expensive than eating out, her parents were pretty strict about daughters needing to learn how to cook, and there were only certain foods Morgana could eat. But she also enjoyed spending time with her colleagues and didn't mind going out of her way to make sure they had an enjoyable dinner, even if she didn't like cooking. As for Nadine/Nodoff, Morgana was absolutely speechless by the ghoul's skill. It sort of reminded her of how ... but, that wasn't possible. That person has been dead.

"That'll be all for now, Nadine," Morgana told the ghoul. "Wash your hands and I will show you to your quarters."

Nadine abided by Morgana's orders, then followed the witch up the stairs. The two had stopped by a door in the middle of the hallway. Nadine's orange eyes widened when she spotted a small, yet noticeable gold plaque nailed to the door. In Loving Memory of Pietro, it read. But what mesmerized the ghoul even more was the room itself. The walls were painted an odd shade of orange, while the carpet was a dark brown. And everything else, including the blankets, pillow cases, and bed sheets were either red-orange, red, or different shades of brown. Everything in the room was touched with the colors of autumn. Although Nadine had never set foot in this room her whole life, she felt as if there was something familiar about it.

"This will be where you rest while you're here," Morgana told Nadine. "It's the only guest room my colleagues avoid for some odd reason, but I'm sure this won't faze you in the least."

"It doesn't," Nadine replied.

"If I need your help in the kitchen again, I will come upstairs and get you," Morgana had finished telling the ghoul. "In the meantime, rest."

Nadine nodded just before Morgana descended downstairs. The ghoul scratched her head. She wasn't sure why Morgana wanted her to rest, she wasn't the least bit tired yet. But curiosity got the better of her when she approached the bed to sit on it. Aside from the autumn colors of the room, there was also a toy chest across the bed. Clearly, this was a child's bedroom. And the bed itself was only five feet in length, she would have to change back to Nodoff if she wanted to rest here.

"The chest ... the chest ..."

Suddenly, Nadine's orange eyes held a blank expression and glowed. Before she knew what was happening, something had taken hold of her mind. She rose from the bed, though not of her own will.

"The chest ... Open the chest ..."

Nadine approached the toy chest in a puppet-like manner and began to open it. There were a different variety of toys, as one would expect a toy chest to have. But there was only one in particular that stood out among the rest. It was a plastic pail and shovel ... the kind young boys used to play in sandboxes and make sand-castles, sand-armies, and anything using sand. Then suddenly, a series of images played in Nadine's head like a movie reel. What she had saw was not herself, not even as Nodoff. What she had seen was a young boy duckling, playing in the sandbox after hours when he should've been in bed. The boy was laughing, clearly having so much fun. But then the boy began coughing ... and wouldn't stop.

"Remember this ...? This is your past ..."

"My ... past ...?" Nadine replied to the strange voice that she couldn't find the owner of.

"Don't you remember, Pietro ...? This was how you looked before you died ..."

No sooner was this mentioned than a horrifying image flashed before the duckling. The only features that were visible were a pair of red, glowing eyes, and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. A scream had escaped the boy duck's mouth, then the images disappeared ... before Nadine finally came to her senses. The ghoul began to sweat profusely and she panted for breath. Not to mention that she suddenly had this huge, splitting headache.

"What ...? What happened ...?" the ghoul uttered feebly as she rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Nadine placed the pail and bucket back in the toy chest and closed it before stepping backwards and landing on the bed in a sitting position. Suddenly, the ghoul wasn't feeling well. What happened to all that energy she had earlier? She woozily fell backwards until her head hit the pillow. Fatigue possessed her as did the mysterious voice from before. The only thoughts that remained before Nadine fell into a slumber was an array of Sleep Sand that Darkwing had spilt back in Dream World.


	5. The Tale of Pietro MacCawber

**Chapter 5:** ** _The Tale of Pietro MacCawber_**

Morgana's friends had arrived and dinner was prepared. Luckily for her, no one was overly critical of the dinner that was made. Most of her friends were picky eaters, Morgana was the only one in the group who would eat anything if she was hungry (provided that the preparer always washed his/her hands and that foods were never undercooked). They engaged in intellectual conversation about ancestors past, Morgana was so caught up in the moment she had quite forgotten that Nodoff was in the house. Then one of the group members lifted his wine glass to propose a toast to the Morgana for maintaining the dignity of the MacCawber family and keeping things in order. The witch was deeply honored ... until her eyes spotted through her kitchen window an empty sandbox, now blanketed with Archie's spiderwebs. Her moment of bliss had turned to sadness in a manner of seconds. She caught herself getting bleary-eyed with tears. Since she didn't want to break down crying, Morgana took a deep breath and put on a brave face as she lifted her wine glass.

"I think we should propose another toast!" she announced boldy to avoid anyone getting too suspicious. "This is to someone who, do to great misfortune, could not be with us. And that is my little brother, Pietro MacCawber."

The crowd was taken by silence. Each member exchanged looks with each other before returning their gazes to Morgana.

"Why are we toasting to him, Morgana?" a blond-haired lady wearing gaudy beads on her neck asked. "He has been dead for many years. He never even made it to our first get together."

"Because had he been given the chance to reach maturity," Morgana began, "he would've made a better head of MacCawber Manor than I am."

The crowd was confused. In MacCawber family tradition, the eldest born had always been granted the role of head of the household. The roles of younger siblings, irregardless of gender, were never taken too seriously and most often were viewed as annoyances to most adults. Even certain members of the group shared this same opinion. But Morgana had begged to differ.

"You don't know him the way I did," Morgana informed them. "Pietro had phenomenal powers for his age. What took me hours to get right, Pietro was able to do within seconds. Sometimes I would get so jealous of him, I threatened to hang him by a noose if he dared to upstage me." Morgana continued to tell her friends the story of Pietro MacCawber, in great detail. "Pietro was a very happy-go-lucky child, with lots of energy. Sometimes our parents would get impatient with him, simply because he was very needy, or they were too busy with business and didn't have enough time to attend to his needs. That was where I came in. Pietro had a very vivid imagination, he liked to play in our sandbox a lot. He often pretended the grains of sand had some magic in them, he even had a name for it ... I forgot what he called it. I wanted to nurture his creative side, so I taught him painting and drawing. He really loved to paint and draw, mostly hourglasses, clouds, and people."

Morgana had excused herself temporarily to fetch something that lay in between the refrigerator and the wall. It was a small, mini portfolio. Morgana unzipped it and withdrew a piece of drawing from its contents to show to everyone else. A series of "Oo's" and "Ah's" escaped from each mouth as they witnessed with their own eyes the attention to detail of the drawing. It was a group of hourglasses, no two were alike in their design and it showed in the style of the drawing. Morgana could tell that the crowd was impressed at how the details of the hourglasses bases and outer designs were done in the style of a mature young adult.

"How old was your brother?" a man with broad shoulders asked.

"He was seven," Morgana replied. Each group member exchanged looks and talked among each other the impressive talent this seven-year-old child possessed. The conversation ceased when they took notice of Morgana's sad expression. "And ... sadly that was the age Pietro died."

"How did the boy die?" asked the lady wearing the gaudy beads.

"We don't know," Morgana replied. "When I had returned home from school one afternoon, I began to notice Pietro wasn't as energetic as he used to be. In fact, I saw on his face what looked like an expression of impending doom. He was sitting in the sandbox that day, I asked him what was wrong, he just turned his head the other way. It looked like he wasn't enjoying the sandbox anymore, I thought he was just having a sad day, so I hugged him and he managed to smile. But then at dinner time, Pietro wouldn't even touch his food and he loved to eat. When our parents asked him what was wrong, he said that he wasn't feeling too good. Our parents sent him to bed early, they figured he may have exhausted himself from the magic spells they taught him since he did have a tendency to over-exert himself sometimes. But then each day, it began to get worse and worse. It got to a point where Pietro couldn't even get out of bed. He began to complain that his neck felt stiff and that the lights were too bright, so I dimmed the lights for him. My mother called the doctor to come at our manor, but ... the doctor never arrived. I sat by Pietro's side whenever I got the chance, but I started missing school because of this. My father insisted I go back to school or else I would fall further behind in my classes. Our mother insisted that she would be the one to look after Pietro, but I knew my brother was extremely attached to me, I felt really bad for those times I couldn't be right next to him. Then I returned home one day from school, I painted a picture of this pond we used to spend time together to cheer him up. Upon my return, I saw our mother on the couch, crying. I knew something had happened to Pietro, I would've rushed upstairs to check on him myself ... until I noticed Mother holding his lifeless body in her arms as she cried."

Dead silence took hold of the group. A couple of them began to shed tears at the sound of the sad tale. Even Morgana couldn't stop tears from falling down her cheeks. One of the members in the crowd vehemently ranted that it was all the doctor's fault and that it wasn't Pietro's time to leave. Morgana would've agreed as she had felt the same way, but had informed them that they eventually found out why the doctor hadn't arrived. Her father, who read the newspaper a lot, had encountered an article about a car accident caused by a drunk driver that collided with another car, killing the other driver instantly. That driver happened to be the same doctor Morgana's mother had phoned for.

"Tonight happens to be Pietro's birthday," Morgana told her friends. "Which is why I wanted to dedicate the next toast in his memory."

The crowd acknowledged this request by lifting their wine glasses in response, though it was rather cheerless since they were still stuck on Pietro's tragic end. Soon, the crowd would leave to return their homes within a half hour.

Nadine woke up and found herself surrounded by dark blue-gray skies and clouds. She had recognized this to be Dream World. What happened? The last thing she remembered was a voice talking to her ... and an image of a sandbox.

"Nodoff ... Nodoff ..."

Nadine's ears perked at the sound of a voice calling for Nodoff. It was the exact same voice who spoke to her that called for a Pietro MacCawber, which confused Nadine entirely. That was not her name, yet whenever the voice called for Pietro, she found herself responding to it. What the hell was going on?

"Nodoff ... I know that is you in disguise ..."

No sooner was this mentioned than Nadine's body shifted and changed back into Nodoff. Perplexed by not knowing who the voice belonged to or where it came from, Nodoff flew in the direction where it sounded like the voice was coming from. But his floating in mid-air came to an abrupt halt when an image of a sandbox appeared before him. But the sandbox wasn't empty. Inside it was a young boy duckling playing inside it. The same one he saw in a flashback just before he fell asleep in that bedroom. And for a moment, Nodoff looked at the scene with blissful eyes. Usually, he didn't care for kids or people for the matter. However, this image of a child playing in the sandbox made him feel at peace. Nodoff couldn't understand why, but something about that young duckling felt familiar.

Then suddenly, the image shifted. This time, it was nothing beautiful or endearing. This time, it was something of pure horror. Nodoff saw what looked like a window to a library ... but what was on the other side of this window began to make him feel sick to his stomach. What Nodoff saw was a hideous-looking green demon with red eyes and jagged teeth. But it was not the demon itself that made Nodoff feel nauseous, rather it was what he was doing. He had witnessed the demon lay down what looked like a piece of dead skin that belonged to something (or someone) else, lying flat on the table. But Nodoff recognized the outline of this skin. It bore the same features as the duckling he saw playing in the sandbox ... except it was missing it's beak and eyes. And what was odd was that the grotesque demon took a paintbrush and began painting the dead-skin. Although the image was too much for Nodoff to bare, he couldn't take his eyes off it. He continued to watch the demon continue with his handiwork at painting the skin a blue-green color, while the black hair was dyed a stark and vibrant blue. There were also some other alterations made. The demon sewed a pair of long ears that matched the color of the newly painted skin tone, and where the duckling's beak used to be was replaced with an extra set of skin. The ugly demon had fused this part together with a touch of magic ... which made Nodoff scratch his head in confusion. If the demon could perform magic, then why was he wasting his time, painting? Then the image disappeared, not allowing Nodoff to see the end result of what the painted skin would become. And the demon who Nodoff saw suddenly appeared before his eyes. If there were a ground to stand on in Dream World, Nodoff's feet would've been nailed to them in terror. He had expected the ugly demon to tear him to shreds or have him for lunch. Instead, the demon touched Nodoff's cheek in an affectionate, somewhat fatherly manner. Still, the demon's hand felt ice cold against Nodoff's skin.

"Happy birthday, my son ..."

Morgana's friends had arrived and dinner was prepared. Luckily for her, no one was overly critical of the dinner that was made. Most of her friends were picky eaters, Morgana was the only one in the group who would eat anything if she was hungry (provided that the preparer always washed his/her hands and that foods were never undercooked). They engaged in intellectual conversation about ancestors past, Morgana was so caught up in the moment she had quite forgotten that Nodoff was in the house. Then one of the group members lifted his wine glass to propose a toast to the Morgana for maintaining the dignity of the MacCawber family and keeping things in order. The witch was deeply honored ... until her eyes spotted through her kitchen window an empty sandbox, now blanketed with Archie's spiderwebs. Her moment of bliss had turned to sadness in a manner of seconds. She caught herself getting bleary-eyed with tears. Since she didn't want to break down crying, Morgana took a deep breath and put on a brave face as she lifted her wine glass.

"I think we should propose another toast!" she announced boldy to avoid anyone getting too suspicious. "This is to someone who, do to great misfortune, could not be with us. And that is my little brother, Pietro MacCawber."

The crowd was taken by silence. Each member exchanged looks with each other before returning their gazes to Morgana.

"Why are we toasting to him, Morgana?" a blond-haired lady wearing gaudy beads on her neck asked. "He has been dead for many years. He never even made it to our first get together."

"Because had he been given the chance to reach maturity," Morgana began, "he would've made a better head of MacCawber Manor than I am."

The crowd was confused. In MacCawber family tradition, the eldest born had always been granted the role of head of the household. The roles of younger siblings, irregardless of gender, were never taken too seriously and most often were viewed as annoyances to most adults. Even certain members of the group shared this same opinion. But Morgana had begged to differ.

"You don't know him the way I did," Morgana informed them. "Pietro had phenomenal powers for his age. What took me hours to get right, Pietro was able to do within seconds. Sometimes I would get so jealous of him, I threatened to hang him by a noose if he dared to upstage me." Morgana continued to tell her friends the story of Pietro MacCawber, in great detail. "Pietro was a very happy-go-lucky child, with lots of energy. Sometimes our parents would get impatient with him, simply because he was very needy, or they were too busy with business and didn't have enough time to attend to his needs. That was where I came in. Pietro had a very vivid imagination, he liked to play in our sandbox a lot. He often pretended the grains of sand had some magic in them, he even had a name for it ... I forgot what he called it. I wanted to nurture his creative side, so I taught him painting and drawing. He really loved to paint and draw, mostly hourglasses, clouds, and people."

Morgana had excused herself temporarily to fetch something that lay in between the refrigerator and the wall. It was a small, mini portfolio. Morgana unzipped it and withdrew a piece of drawing from its contents to show to everyone else. A series of "Oo's" and "Ah's" escaped from each mouth as they witnessed with their own eyes the attention to detail of the drawing. It was a group of hourglasses, no two were alike in their design and it showed in the style of the drawing. Morgana could tell that the crowd was impressed at how the details of the hourglasses bases and outer designs were done in the style of a mature young adult.

"How old was your brother?" a man with broad shoulders asked.

"He was seven," Morgana replied. Each group member exchanged looks and talked among each other the impressive talent this seven-year-old child possessed. The conversation ceased when they took notice of Morgana's sad expression. "And ... sadly that was the age Pietro died."

"How did the boy die?" asked the lady wearing the gaudy beads.

"We don't know," Morgana replied. "When I had returned home from school one afternoon, I began to notice Pietro wasn't as energetic as he used to be. In fact, I saw on his face what looked like an expression of impending doom. He was sitting in the sandbox that day, I asked him what was wrong, he just turned his head the other way. It looked like he wasn't enjoying the sandbox anymore, I thought he was just having a sad day, so I hugged him and he managed to smile. But then at dinner time, Pietro wouldn't even touch his food and he loved to eat. When our parents asked him what was wrong, he said that he wasn't feeling too good. Our parents sent him to bed early, they figured he may have exhausted himself from the magic spells they taught him since he did have a tendency to over-exert himself sometimes. But then each day, it began to get worse and worse. It got to a point where Pietro couldn't even get out of bed. He began to complain that his neck felt stiff and that the lights were too bright, so I dimmed the lights for him. My mother called the doctor to come at our manor, but ... the doctor never arrived. I sat by Pietro's side whenever I got the chance, but I started missing school because of this. My father insisted I go back to school or else I would fall further behind in my classes. Our mother insisted that she would be the one to look after Pietro, but I knew my brother was extremely attached to me, I felt really bad for those times I couldn't be right next to him. Then I returned home one day from school, I painted a picture of this pond we used to spend time together to cheer him up. Upon my return, I saw our mother on the couch, crying. I knew something had happened to Pietro, I would've rushed upstairs to check on him myself ... until I noticed Mother holding his lifeless body in her arms as she cried."

Dead silence took hold of the group. A couple of them began to shed tears at the sound of the sad tale. Even Morgana couldn't stop tears from falling down her cheeks. One of the members in the crowd vehemently ranted that it was all the doctor's fault and that it wasn't Pietro's time to leave. Morgana would've agreed as she had felt the same way, but had informed them that they eventually found out why the doctor hadn't arrived. Her father, who read the newspaper a lot, had encountered an article about a car accident caused by a drunk driver that collided with another car, killing the other driver instantly. That driver happened to be the same doctor Morgana's mother had phoned for.

"Tonight happens to be Pietro's birthday," Morgana told her friends. "Which is why I wanted to dedicate the next toast in his memory."

The crowd acknowledged this request by lifting their wine glasses in response, though it was rather cheerless since they were still stuck on Pietro's tragic end. Soon, the crowd would leave to return their homes within a half hour.

Nadine woke up and found herself surrounded by dark blue-gray skies and clouds. She had recognized this to be Dream World. What happened? The last thing she remembered was a voice talking to her ... and an image of a sandbox.

"Nodoff ... Nodoff ..."

Nadine's ears perked at the sound of a voice calling for Nodoff. It was the exact same voice who spoke to her that called for a Pietro MacCawber, which confused Nadine entirely. That was not her name, yet whenever the voice called for Pietro, she found herself responding to it. What the hell was going on?

"Nodoff ... I know that is you in disguise ..."

No sooner was this mentioned than Nadine's body shifted and changed back into Nodoff. Perplexed by not knowing who the voice belonged to or where it came from, Nodoff flew in the direction where it sounded like the voice was coming from. But his floating in mid-air came to an abrupt halt when an image of a sandbox appeared before him. But the sandbox wasn't empty. Inside it was a young boy duckling playing inside it. The same one he saw in a flashback just before he fell asleep in that bedroom. And for a moment, Nodoff looked at the scene with blissful eyes. Usually, he didn't care for kids or people for the matter. However, this image of a child playing in the sandbox made him feel at peace. Nodoff couldn't understand why, but something about that young duckling felt familiar.

Then suddenly, the image shifted. This time, it was nothing beautiful or endearing. This time, it was something of pure horror. Nodoff saw what looked like a window to a library ... but what was on the other side of this window began to make him feel sick to his stomach. What Nodoff saw was a hideous-looking green demon with red eyes and jagged teeth. But it was not the demon itself that made Nodoff feel nauseous, rather it was what he was doing. He had witnessed the demon lay down what looked like a piece of dead skin that belonged to something (or someone) else, lying flat on the table. But Nodoff recognized the outline of this skin. It bore the same features as the duckling he saw playing in the sandbox ... except it was missing it's beak and eyes. And what was odd was that the grotesque demon took a paintbrush and began painting the dead-skin. Although the image was too much for Nodoff to bare, he couldn't take his eyes off it. He continued to watch the demon continue with his handiwork at painting the skin a blue-green color, while the black hair was dyed a stark and vibrant blue. There were also some other alterations made. The demon sewed a pair of long ears that matched the color of the newly painted skin tone, and where the duckling's beak used to be was replaced with an extra set of skin. The ugly demon had fused this part together with a touch of magic ... which made Nodoff scratch his head in confusion. If the demon could perform magic, then why was he wasting his time, painting? Then the image disappeared, not allowing Nodoff to see the end result of what the painted skin would become. And the demon who Nodoff saw suddenly appeared before his eyes. If there were a ground to stand on in Dream World, Nodoff's feet would've been nailed to them in terror. He had expected the ugly demon to tear him to shreds or have him for lunch. Instead, the demon touched Nodoff's cheek in an affectionate, somewhat fatherly manner. Still, the demon's hand felt ice cold against Nodoff's skin.

"Happy birthday, my son ..."


End file.
